


Coronation Blues

by mistrali



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistrali/pseuds/mistrali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets about Sandry's upcoming coronation. Speculative, and explicitly jossed by Word of God. But we can dream, can't we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The 14th day of Seed Moon, K.F. 147

"My dear, I have a proposal for you," said Vedris. He sat straight in his chair, but there was a set to his jaw that had not been there yesterday evening. Sandry's first thought, as so often these days, was of his health. She peered up at his face in the lamplight. "Everything's all right, I hope, Uncle?" she asked cautiously. "If you want me to draft any more reports..."  
He smiled, then, and kissed her on the top of the head. "I wager you'll have more than enough drafting to do after the tax reforms," he told her. "But Sandrilene, how would you feel about becoming my heir?"

She might have squeaked, or gasped. "Uncle," she heard herself saying, "This is a poor joke."  
But her great-uncle's mouth didn't so much as twitch. Come to that, when had she ever known him to joke about the realm? 

And why was he asking Sandry, anyway? A duchy, even a small one, wasn't an easy thing to manage. Were she in the duke's shoes, she didn't think she could have put a temple-raised thread mage on the throne. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what about Cole?" she ventured. "He's more familiar than I am with the military, and such things." 

Vedris cleared his throat. "You have a talent for administration, and the staff here know and respect you. Cole is a younger son, and besides, he is happier and more useful at sea. I realise, however, that you have your family to consider, and travel plans that this may interfere with," he added. "I had thought of your co-ruling with Gospard, if that makes your decision any easier."

He waited while Sandry, for once lost for words, sipped at her tea. It was rather beautiful, sweet and flavoured with rose petals. The offer made her stomach churn with emotions she was afraid to examine: apprehension, sadness, excitement.  
"I'll need a few days to think about it," she said at last, smiling at him. "And, really, Uncle, with you, Erdogun, Tamar, Kwaben and Oama advising me so well on the realm, it doesn't feel half as much like work as it should."  
Vedris chuckled outright. "You are learning tact, my dear, as well as flattery," he said, wrapping her into a hug. He rang for the servant to take away the tea tray, and rose to his feet. Sandry, catching herself in a yawn, wished her uncle a good night and went to her rooms, which seemed more than usually draughty. She would have to have the castle done up, she thought drowsily, if funds permitted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Individual Character Week at Goldenlake.

You're being silly, fretting over what your friends and family will say, Sandry told herself firmly. But her mind raced when she tried to sleep, let alone concentrate on any of her other work. How much else there was to think about, even before the coronation date was set: her uncle's will and abdication papers to be signed, wardrobes to be looked over, advisors to sift through, pirates to ward off, interest groups to placate. Traders, she thought grouchily, glaring at the unfinished report on her desk, were happy to appeal to the state when it suited them, but kept themselves otherwise apart. And the merchants simmered with indignation over things done to the third and fourth cousins of acquaintances. 

Finally she sighed, cast aside her report (the third one this week on harbour space) and grabbed for a handful of thread instead. Embroidery had always comforted her ever since Hatar, and now she stitched almost without thought, using her crystal to save her eyes from strain in the candlelight. 

That was how Daja found her an hour and a half later at dawn, bent over four skeins of silk in different shades of blue and lilac.  
"You should get more sleep. You're starting to look like Crane on a bad day," said her sister. Daja looked impossibly awake, in a fresh cotton tunic, orange hemp breeches and two white hair ties.  
"Only starting to?" grumbled Sandry, through dry lips. She felt puffy-eyed and chufflebrained. "I'm glad you think so much of my looks."  
Daja grinned at her. "Now you sound like him, too. Come to the shrine with me? It'll be good for your vanity." Sandry stuck out her tongue, but set aside her silk and went to wash, drink some tea and fetch the sweet pea blooms she kept as tokens for Pirisi. The embroidery, and her worries, could wait until the afternoon.


End file.
